


The Sickness

by majorhtom



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (I love Queen), All Human AU, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst and Humor, Crowley’s houseplants, Hospitals, Light Angst, Medical stuff, Modern Era, Multi, NHS, Queen lots of Queen, Seizures, Sick Character, and some things will be different, angsty in parts, but besides that it’s accurate, but the patienty stuff is, funny in parts, i mean I was a student in Wales, like loans and stuff, student poverty, the doctory stuff probably isn’t, this takes place in England, to my knowledge this is what it’s like to be a student in the UK, yes to my knowledge that’s accurate too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-02 07:01:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19194034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/majorhtom/pseuds/majorhtom
Summary: Crowley stopped outside a Boots when he felt his phone buzzing in his jeans pocket (and Freddie Mercury’s voice had been replaced with his stupid Apple ringtone that he hadn’t been bothered to change).He answered it and sighed loudly if only to let the caller know how much they’d inconvenienced him. “Anathema, this had better be important.”“Ez has been taken ill.” The caller, Anathema, said down the phone. “Newt called an ambulance and the paramedic called the blue lights. He’s gone to hospital.”Anthony Crowley, Ezra Fell, Newt Pulsifer and Anathema Device are all friends in their final year of undergrad uni and are preparing to graduate in the summer.Except for the massive roadblock of Ezra being hospitalised after falling ill for what is actually the first time ever.And it doesn’t look good.





	1. Chapter 1

Anthony Crowley was walking along down the high street as he listened to his beaten up old iPhone that he’d had since the day that particular model had been released. His iPhone was used less and less for its intended purpose and more as an iPod these days and as a student he could hardly afford to get it replaced, what with the having to pay nine grand a year tuition and on top of that, halls, living expenses, food, laundry and a hundred and fifty four pounds a year for a TV license. It all piled up and he had only thirty pence in his bank account waiting for the next almost grand and a half loan from Student Finance England to find its way into his bank account. He was going to go overdraft. He just didn’t care. 

He had bigger things to worry about after all as he was drinking a Red Bull, having pulled an all-nighter the previous night in order to cram for the exam that he’d had that morning. And despite what his friends would have to say about it, this was a regular occurrence.

Crowley stopped outside a Boots when he felt his phone buzzing in his jeans pocket (and Freddie Mercury’s voice had been replaced with his stupid Apple ringtone that he hadn’t been bothered to change). 

He answered it and sighed loudly if only to let the caller know how much they’d inconvenienced him. “Anathema, this had better be important.” 

“ _Ez has been taken ill_.” The caller, Anathema, said down the phone. “ _Newt called an ambulance and the paramedic called the blue lights. He’s gone to hospital._ ” 

Crowley wasn’t sure how to react to this news. Ezra had been his best friend since childhood. They’d gone to playgroup together and nursery and the same primary and secondary schools and when Ezra quit sixth to go to college, Crowley had joined him and now they attended the same university. They’d done their GCSEs together. And in all of that time, Crowley had never known Ezra to get so much as the sniffles, break his leg or even have nits, considering how often he worked with kids. Not that nits or broken legs were illnesses _exactly_ but he still won all the perfect attendance awards at school.

“ _Crowley. Are you still there?_ ” Anathema’s voice came down the phone. 

“Yeah.” Crowley cleared his throat. “Yes. Yeah, Annie, I’m here.” 

“ _You should come back to halls_.” 

“Why?” 

“ _Just_...” A long pause. “ _We’ll tell you when you get here_.”

And all Crowley could hear was a long flat tone; Anathema had hung up. 

Crowley and Ezra had met Anathema and Newt almost two and a half years ago when they had all been freshers. They were all now in their last year of university and were carefully and hurriedly working on their dissertations, which had to be in by mid-March. It was currently mid-January. 

The dissertation _had_ to be done or they wouldn’t graduate with their degrees in the summer. Crowley, being Crowley, hadn’t started his yet. Ezra, being Ezra, had actually nearly finished his. Anathema and Newt were working on theirs, with varying degrees of success. 

Anathema Device worked for an occultist and metaphysical supply shop that stocked everything from herbs and spices, pestles and mortars to crystals for alternative healing. She was a witch. Or at least that’s what she called herself but then she _was_ descended from the witch and prophetess Agnes Nutter. Her boss, a medium (except on Thursdays. And some mornings. And most evenings) who called herself Madame Tracy, found that very impressive and hired Anathema on the spot. 

Newton Pulsifer, however, worked for an old man by the name of Shadwell who ran an antique store and was obsessed with finding antiques around the Witchfinder Army. He would also stand on the street corner handing out flyers to passers-by and raving to them about witches. He did the exact same thing with his customers. Newt had no part in this and it embarrassed him greatly to know that everyone, himself included, thought of his boss as a raving lunatic. 

* * *

Crowley spent much of the journey back to halls on autopilot. 

He didn’t notice passing the mother and her child. The man on the street corner pedalling The Big Issue. The lesbian couple sitting outside and sharing an espresso and caramel frappe creme at the Caffè Nero. The student busking with a guitar playing Ed Sheeran’s Shape Of You. The Jehovah Witnesses thrusting copies of The Watchtower to any unlucky bugger who passed by.

This is how Crowley looked down at his hand and noticed it was no longer holding his can of Red Bull, but a copy of The Watchtower. Which he promptly threw into the nearest litter receptacle. 

“Fuckin’ Watchtower.” He muttered to himself. 

There was nothing more annoying than Jehovah Witnesses proselytising on the high street, except maybe Jehovah Witnesses proselytising in tube stations, around halls or, worse still, door to door. 

There were actually lots of things that annoyed Crowley. But Jehovah Witnesses were an inconvenience for sure. 

He arrived back at halls where there was a black female and a white female, both Jehovah Witnesses and both pedalling Awake! which further irritated Crowley. 

The white female tried to hand Crowley a copy of Awake! but Crowley lowered his sunglasses and glared hard at her, which intimidated her into backing away. 

“Crowley!” 

Crowley’s head snapped towards the voice. Which belonged to a waving Newt. He walked over and whipped off his sunglasses. 

“What’s happened to Ezra?” He demanded. 

“Erm...” Was all Newt could say. 

Newt was hardly the most articulate of his friends. That honour went to either Ezra or Anathema (more likely Ezra since he believed it wasn’t moral to swear and so came up with many colourful alternatives). Newt just said ‘um’, ‘uh’ and ‘erm’ and used sentence fillers a lot.

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Well, Newt?” 

“It all happened so fast.” Said Anathema, coming from behind Newt. “Ez came from his exam and said he wasn’t feeling well. Neither Newt or I had an exam today. I went to get Ez a drink of water. He collapsed. Had a seizure.” 

“I called nine-nine-nine. A paramedic in a car came and examined him.” Newt continued. “He called the blue lights and an ambulance took Ez to hospital.”

“Which one?” Crowley demanded. 

Anathema told him.

Crowley clenched his jaw. He wanted to swear. But he tried to keep it in. 

“Have either of you told Ez’s family yet?”

“Crowley, it’s a seizure. He’s probably going to be fine-“ 

“No, Annie, it’s bad.” Crowley said. “ _Really_ bad. My family’s always known Ez’s. He’s had all his vaccines and he’s never been sick with _anything_. Not even the common cold. What if he’s got a-a brain tumour or something?” 

“You can’t jump to the worst possible outcome, Crowley.” Anathema said. “He was very hot when he collapsed so he probably just has a fever. Some people get seizures when they have a fever and since Ez never had any illness before-“ 

“And if it _is_ brain cancer?”

“Then we can just be there for him.” Newt said.

* * *

Ezra Fell did not have a brain tumour. Or any cancer for that matter. But he _was_ running a very high fever. And his head was hurting from the fever and so were his muscles and deep down into his bones. Or at least he was assuming it was from the fever. He didn’t know. He’d never had a fever before and he was quite scared. 

In fact, nothing like this had ever happened to him before. He’d never visited the doctor except to get his shots. He’d never been to hospital outside of volunteering or visiting. He wondered how other people did it. His brothers and sisters. Anathema. Newt. Crowley. The Them. 

“I can assure you, I’m really quite fine-“

“And I can assure you, I can’t just let you out of the ambulance.” Said a rather impatient paramedic. “You’ve had a seizure and you’re running a fever of forty degrees.” 

“Do you think I have meningitis? Because I’ve had the vaccine.” 

“I don’t know what it is.” The paramedic said. “Nor am I qualified to diagnose it. You’ll have to wait until a space opens up in the A&E.”

“Am I dying?” Ezra asked in panic. “What if I have Ebola?”

“You _definitely_ don’t have Ebola and you’re _probably_ not dying. Or you wouldn’t be talking to me.” The paramedic said. 

* * *

“It’s all my fault.” Crowley said. “It’s my fault.”

“It’s nobody’s fault. I don’t think.” 

“Newt’s right. It’s just one of these things that happen.” Anathema said. “Crowley, I honestly don’t think Ez is dying.”

“What if he is?” Crowley asked. “He might be in a coma-“

“He was talking to me after the seizure.” Newt said. “I mean he, like, he sounded confused. And it freaked us out a little. But he was still awake when the paramedics came and took him away. Unless something’s happened since then, he’s not in a coma.” 

“Seizures don’t just happen-“

“Sometimes they _do_ , Crowley.” Anathema said. “It doesn’t mean anyone’s dying or in a coma or they’ve got epilepsy or meningitis or aggressive brain cancer-“

“Not helping, Annie.” Newt said. 

“My point is that they do sometimes just... happen. And Ez had a fever.”

Anathema was a straight A engineering student who held no degrees in medicine, but Crowley felt better hearing this. After all, she may have sold crystals for ‘healing’, but she didn’t really believe it. 

“You’re right.” He nodded. “It’s probably not the worst case.”

“Come on.” Said Newt, the perpetually unlucky accounting student. “I’ll drive us to the hospital-“

“NO!” Both Crowley and Anathema bellowed. 

“I mean, that’s not really necessary.” Crowley said. “I have my own car.”

“And I can ride with Crowley.” Anathema added. 

“But... you’re my girlfriend.” Newt said.

“I... I’d rather ride with Crowley.” Anathema said. 

“I get it.” Newt said with a sad nod. 

“It’s just that Crowley’s car is, well, it’s a _car_ , Newt. I don’t know what your car is, but it’s _not_ a car.”

Crowley raised his hand slightly. “Yeah, it’s not a car, mate.” 

“I guess I’ll be driving myself.” 

Crowley sighed. “Get in my car, Pulsifer. I’m not having you put yourself in the hospital too. One of us is more than enough.” 

* * *

At the hospital, a bed shortage meant that a doctor had to go to the ambulance and see Ezra who was waiting there and hooked up to a heart monitor. 

Just as Ezra was telling the doctor hat he was okay, he tensed up and fell back against the gurney. His eyes rolled back and he started violently convulsing. 

The doctor timed the seizure and when it didn’t stop after three minutes, he ordered the paramedics to get Ezra into the A&E. 

* * *

As Crowley was driving, his phone rang on the dashboard. He looked at the phone and then back on the road, but the phone kept buzzing. 

“Anathema, can you answer that?” Crowley asked. “Only I’m driving.”

“Sure.” Anathema grabbed the phone and dragged the little green symbol to answer the phone. “Anthony J. Crowley’s iPhone, this is Anathema Device speaking, how may I help you?” 

Crowley frowned and briefly glanced to Anathema, before his eyes went back on the road. 

Anathema had the phone in one hand and covered the microphone with her other hand. “Crowley, you need to pull over.” She said urgently. “Now.” 

“What is it?” Crowley asked. 

“It’s the hospital.” Anathema explained. “Apparently you’re Ez’s emergency contact.” 

“Oh Jesus.” Crowley looked for the safest spot to pull over and put the hazard lights on. He took the phone from Anathema.

“This is, erm, Anthony J. Crowley speaking.” 

Both Anathema and Newt stayed quiet and tried to hear what the person on the other end of the receiver was saying. With the running engine of the car, the repetitive clicking of the hazard light and the whooshing of the cars passing by outside, it was difficult task. 

“Okay.” Crowley said. “Thank you.” He hung up the phone and tossed it on the dashboard. 

Nobody said anything. Tensions were so thick they could be cut with a knife. 

Then;

“Shitshitshitshit _SHIT_!” Crowley thumped at the steering wheel so hard it was a minor miracle his airbags didn’t deploy and screamed out loud. It sounded less pained and less angry and more terrified like he’d been spooked in a haunted house with just a hint of frustration.

“Crowley, are you-“ Anathema began. 

Crowley held up his left hand, the palm was red raw from all the hitting of the wheel. 

He lowered his head and rested it on the steering wheel and a near complete silence fell over the car, save for the click-click-clicking of the hazard light. 

A few minutes passed and Crowley raised his head again. 

“Fuck.” He muttered. 

“Are you alright, Crowley?” Newt asked. 

“Just fine, Pulsifer.” Crowley said. 

“Is Ezra-“

“He’s _not_ fine.” 

“Oh no, Crowley, I’m so sorry.” Anathema said. 

“He’s not _dead_ , Device. Just...”

Crowley exhaled loudly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right. I wrote this because I wanted to. I saw so many ‘college’ AUs that took place in Britain and I was like... none of this matches my experience or the experience of any uni student in the UK. So here it is, my accurate British Uni AU.  
> I imagine Crowley has an iPhone 4.  
> Yes uni fees in England are over 9k.  
> Yes TV licenses are £154 (roughly $195). You have to have one if you want to watch live TV, even if it’s over the Internet. It mostly goes towards funding the latest season of Doctor Who (an exaggeration, but it does go to BBC programming, so it probably went partly to funding the Good Omens show, which is co-produced with Amazon Prime). You also have to have one if you want to watch the news. If you watch live TV without one, you’ll be arrested and be forced to pay a hefty fine plus all legal fees. So it’s better to have one.  
> Student Finance England handle all student loans by all students who live in England, even if they study in Scotland or Wales.  
> I took out loans through Student Finance Wales and they paid me almost £1500 per semester for living expenses, so I can imagine it wouldn’t be that much different with Student Finance England. Tuition fees go straight to the uni itself. The student doesn’t touch them or think about them until they earn £25k a year. If after 30 years pass without paying it off, the debt gets written off. Such an unfair system.  
> Boots is British Walgreens, but with less groceries and less crap and they don’t sell stuff like crutches there, you just get them on the NHS if you need them.  
> ‘The blue lights’ is an ambulance van. Generally if you call 999, they send a car or a motorbike with a paramedic and their gear. If they deem the situation bad enough, they’ll call backup from their colleagues who bring an ambulance van. If it’s REALLY bad, they’ll call an air ambulance. They’re called ‘blue lights’ because the motorbike and car don’t have flashing blue lights like an ambulance does.  
> Playgroup is where kids under three go to learn.  
> Nursery is where kids aged three to four go to learn.  
> Reception is where kids aged four to five learn.  
> Primary school is where kids aged three to eleven go to learn.  
> Secondary school is where kids aged eleven to nineteen (occasionally twenty) go to learn.  
> College is where you go to get qualifications to get you to uni or into a trade or apprenticeship. Generally started at age sixteen, but attendees go in their twenties. Some courses, employees are sent by their employer, so ages vary on those ones. Degrees aren’t obtained here, though you can get one on degree courses (there are very few).  
> GCSEs are exams that fourteen to sixteen year olds take to get themselves to sixth form where they take more exams, to A-Levels, to get to uni. Think of GCSEs as OWLS in Harry Potter and A-Levels as NEWTS. But you train for the GCSEs as soon as your eleventh birthday.  
> Nits=head lice.  
> Uni degrees last three years. First years are freshers. Second years are second years and third years are third years. The dissertation is a ten thousand word essay handed in in either February or March, depending on uni and subject.  
> The Big Issue is a magazine sold by homeless people. For every magazine sold, the homeless person earns half the profit.  
> The espresso and caramel frappe creme is an actual drink you can buy at Caffè Nero.  
> Jehovah Witnesses do thrust copies of the Watchtower into your hand on the high street and at halls. It’s their new tactic.  
> Oh high street=long street where there are shops. There can be as little as ten or as many as a hundred and fifty. They can also branch off into malls. Generally has lots of charity shops.  
> And halls=like little villages where students live, sometimes on the uni campus, sometimes somewhere else if the uni isn’t a campus uni.  
> Litter receptacle=bin. Bin=trash can.  
> A&E=Accident and Emergency. Or Emergency Room. Or Emergency Department. Or Emergency Ward. Or Casualty Department. Or Casualty. Take your pick.  
> Because the Tory government is defunding and privatising our NHS, seriously ill patients are being forced to wait in ambulances for beds. Yes, especially heart attack and stroke patients. Ezra/Aziraphale being moved to the definitely overcrowded A&E is not a good sign for him.  
> It’s against the law to drive while on the phone, another offence punishable by arrest and hefty fine, sometimes even jail time, so of course Crowley would have Anathema answer it.  
> Anathema told him to pull over because of the Data Protection Act (1998). The hospital legally couldn’t tell her anything and they had to speak to Crowley.


	2. Chapter 2

“Morning, Mr Shadwell.” Newt greeted as he stepped into his boss’s store for work the next day. He took off his coat. “Sorry I’m a bit late.” 

“Did any witches get you?” Shadwell asked, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. 

“Uh... no.” Newt was used to these kinds of questions by now. He found it best not to say that witches didn’t exist. Well, there was Anathema. But she wasn’t like the supernatural Harry Potter witches like Shadwell believed in. “No witches. A friend of mine’s sick.” 

“Oh, aye?” Shadwell asked in interest. 

“He’s in the hospital. Apparently he’s never been sick before.” Newt walked over to the back room, carrying his coat. 

“Oh he’s definitely been cursed by a witch.” Shadwell said. 

“Erm... how-how can you tell?” Newt hung up his coat and avoided his boss’s eye contact. 

“You say he’s never been sick before, now he’s in the hospital? Witch’s curse.” 

“That’s nice.” Newt said absent minded. He turned around to Shadwell standing in his way. 

“It’s not ‘nice’, laddie. It’s terrible.” 

Newt tried to sidestep his boss. “It’s just a fever, Mr Shadwell. He’s... well, he’s not fine exactly, but he’s not dying I don’t... think. He’s just having seizures.” 

“Ah then it’s not witchcraft but demonic possession!” Shadwell said. 

“Demons don’t exist, Mr Shadwell.” Newt said. “And neither do angels.”  _Or witches_ , he thought.

“That’s what they want you to think, lad, so they can take over your body!”

“Sure they do, Mr Shadwell.” Newt said. 

“I mean it, laddie.” Shadwell said. “Now tell me, how many nipples does your friend have?”

Newt sighed. Today was going to be a long day.

* * *

“I’m sorry I’m late, Madame Tracy.” Anathema said, rushing into Madame Tracy’s Spiritual Supplies, the shop that she worked at. “My friend’s in the hospital.” 

Madame Tracy looked up from the book she’d been reading; The Ocean at the End of the Lane. “Oh yes, I heard. How is Ezra doing?” 

“He’s got a very high fever and he’s had three seizures.” Anathema explained. “They don’t know what’s causing it, so they’re keeping him sedated.”

“Oh the poor dear.” Madame Tracy moved from behind the counter. “I have just the thing for him. Try some hematite or peridot and put it on his forehead. They’re good stones for fever.”

“I couldn’t even if I wanted to.” And Anathema didn’t want to because she believed in the doctors at the hospital and not her wacky boss’s crystal healing. “His brain’s being monitored because of the seizures.”

“Fair. Why don’t you put it in his hand instead? Stones do better when they’re given skin contact.” 

“I’ll consider it.” Anathema said.

“Also consider some lapis. It’s a calming crystal and would probably help keep his central nervous system calm and prevent further seizures.” Madame Tracy explained. She grabbed a small piece of lapis from a shelf filled with lots of other crystals-all labelled of course. “To that extent, I also think some malachite would do good as it’s a stone for balance.” She took another small stone and turned to Anathema. “Would you like to try him with some essential oils?” 

“He’s on a life support machine and wouldn’t be able to inhale them, so probably not.” Anathema said. “I don’t think they allow burning oils in the hospital anyway.” 

“I suppose not.” Madame Tracy pressed the stones into Anathema’s palms. “Try these with him. I’m sure he’ll get better.”

“I hope so too, Madame Tracy.” Anathema said. “I’m more worried about Crowley. He’s not taking this whole thing very well at all.”

“Crowley’s your friend the goth, right?” 

“He’s not a goth, he just likes black.” 

* * *

Crowley cared more about what was in his bank account today than he did yesterday, so despite his reservations about leaving Ezra in the hospital, he turned up for work. 

Unlike Anathema or Newt or even Ezra, Crowley didn’t work in a little independent shop. No, he worked for Costa Coffee. Which meant that unlike his friends, he had to wear a uniform; a red t-shirt, a brown apron and a name tag. And he hated it. He was only doing it for the money at this point. Once he got his degree in horticulture... he would be out quicker than you could say ‘plant science’. 

Crowley would usually be lucky that the shop wasn’t too busy, but today was a bad day for it to be this way. It would have been better if today were busier, like swept off his feet busy because then he wouldn’t stew about Ezra.

A grumpy old man entered and approached the counter. 

“I got this.” Crowley said to his co-worker. He turned to the old man. “What can I get you?” He asked. 

“A black cappuccino.”

Crowley sighed. 

“What was that, boy?” The man asked. 

“We don’t do black cappuccinos. I’m sure nowhere does.” Crowley said. 

“I had a black cappuccino yesterday. Make me a black cappuccino today.” 

“Black cappuccinos don’t exist, sir. You’re going to have to select something else.”

“But I had one yesterday.” The man argued. 

“You may have had an americano yesterday, but you did _not_ have a black cappuccino.” Crowley said. 

The man folded his arms. “I demand to speak to your manager.” 

Crowley put his palms on the counter. “He’s only going to tell you the same thing. Black cappuccinos do not exist. Pick something else.” 

The man narrowed his eyes at Crowley. He was seething inside, it was clear to see. The man was R.P. Tyler, a known pedant. Whenever things were not to his liking, he would send little passive aggressive notes to people. But about his favourite thing to was publicly name and shame the people who’d wronged him by writing a letter to his favourite newspaper, the Tadfield Advertiser. 

Crowley had been named and shamed more than once in R.P. Tyler’s letters. So had Ezra, who was nothing less than a model person and was so well behaved in school that not everyone discounted the possibility that he might secretly have been an angel. If that was the case, then Crowley would have been the demon. 

Crowley narrowed his eyes back at the man. 

R.P. Tyler was mentally composing a letter. This time not to the Tadfield Advertiser, but to The Times. The sixth most circulated newspaper in the entire UK. _That would definitely get this insolent employee fired_ , he thought. 

_To the editor,_

_Sirs,_

_I feel I must note the absolutely unacceptable behaviour of youth today. When I walked into Costa Coffee today, I expected to purchase a drink. The barista, a young man named Anthony, had ear piercings and tattoos and dyed hair and sunglasses and he refused me point blank my coffee. His manners left much to be desired. This individual, as a representative of his generation, represents a decline in moral standards among the youth..._

“Either choose another drink or leave.” Crowley’s manager said. “You can’t stand there staring at the employees looking like you want to stab them.”

“You’re the manager.” R.P. Tyler said. “Right. I would like to make a complaint about this employee.” 

“What’s Crowley done now?” 

“He refused to serve me the drink I had selected.” 

“And what was that drink?” 

“A black cappuccino.” Crowley said. 

“There’s no such thing as a black cappuccino.” The manager said. “Or if there is, we certainly don’t make them here. The only black drink we do make is an americano. So you’re getting an americano. Primo, medio or massimo?”

“I don’t want an americano, I want a black cappuccino.” R.P. Tyler was getting very irritated. Veins started bulging in his head. 

“We don’t make them.” The manager said.

“I’m not leaving without a drink. I can have you fired, you know.” R.P. Tyler said. “Just wait until the Tadfield Advertiser hears about this.” 

The manager turned to Crowley and spoke in a hushed voice. “Make him a primo americano. Tell him it’s a black cappuccino.” 

Crowley nodded and got to work. 

“Next!” The manager shouted. 

* * *

It was five in the evening and a small group of children, and their dog, strolled into a bookshop arguing about the Spanish Inquisition which they’d been learning about it in their history lesson earlier that day. 

This group was The Them. Other people called the children ‘them’ in a disparaging way, so they adopted the name for their little group. The Them was made up of the bookish Wensleydale, the standoffish Pepper, the grimy Brian, their leader Adam and Adam’s pet dog, Dog. 

They were there looking for Ezra, only they found someone else instead. A tall man with black hair wearing a grey suit. Much older than the twenty-one year old Ezra. 

“You’re not Mr Fell.” Pepper said. 

“No, I’m not.” The man agreed. “Mr Fell is... _unwell_ , so I’ve taken over his shift. My name is Gabriel.” 

“Like the archangel Gabriel?” Wensleydale noted. 

“Sure.” Gabriel said dismissively. “In any case, I’m Mr Fell’s boss.”

“Aren’t you a Mr something too?” Adam asked. 

“I am a Mr, but you don’t have to call me that.” Gabriel said. “Just call me Gabriel, that’s fine.”

“You’re not as nice as Mr Fell.” Brian said accusingly. 

“Ezra’s too perfect for his own good, to be completely honest. He’s weird like that.” Gabriel said. 

Dog sniffed around Gabriel, knowing that there was something weird about him. He smelled strongly of vape, so maybe that was it. 

“Well, we were looking for a history book.” Wensleydale said. “About the Spanish Inquisition.” 

Gabriel let out a low whistle. “You’re a bit young to be learning about the Spanish Inquisition, aren’t you? How about a nice book on... the Moon Landing?” 

“Well, our teacher this morning’s been telling us stuff about the Spanish Inquisition.” Brian explained. “She said that people was burned to death in the streets for entertainment. We reckon it was ‘cause they was witches. People burned witches in them days after all.” 

The four kids looked at Gabriel expecting some kind of an answer. 

“Right. Well... it wasn’t because they were witches.” Gabriel said. “And it’s a misconception anyway, witches were hanged or beheaded. Generally they were not burned, especially not in Britain.” 

“But that’s Britain.” Pepper pointed out. “We’re asking about Spain.” 

“I, uh, don’t know if anyone’s been executed in Spain for being a witch, but that’s certainly not what the Spanish Inquisition was about.” 

“What _was_ it about then?” Adam asked. 

Dog sat at Adam’s feet. He cocked his head and looked up at Gabriel as though he were expecting an answer as well. 

“Well, Spain’s King and Queen, along with the Pope, formed a sort of task force that tortured so called heretics, people who refused to denounce their beliefs and convert to Catholicism. It was mainly Jews and Muslims who were tortured, in order to get them to confess to being non-Catholic and executed, sometimes by burning at the stake. And this went on for around five hundred and forty years.” 

The Them just stared at Gabriel in disbelief. Was he telling the truth or was it a lie to shut them all up?

Pepper was the first of The Them to speak. “So they _didn’t_ execute witches?” 

Gabriel nodded. “Oh yes, they executed a few. Along with scientists. But that number was few. Historians argue about a lot of it though. But they are certain that more people were forced to do penance than were executed.” 

“What’s penance then?” Brian asked. 

“It’s where you punish yourself because you feel guilty for wrongdoing.” Wensleydale said.

“Uh... yes.” Gabriel said. “That’s correct.” 

“That’s horrible!” Pepper said. “Ganging up on people for no reason!”

“Well nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition.” Gabriel said.

“So when’s Mr Fell coming back?” Adam asked.

“I don’t know.” Gabriel admitted. “He’s in the hospital.” 

“Can we go and visit him?” Pepper asked. 

“I... wouldn’t.” Gabriel said. 

“But Mr Fell-other Mr Fell-is our friend.” Adam said. “We want to see him.” 

“Look, kids, I’ve answered your questions about the Spanish Inquisition, I’m not answering your questions about my employee.”

“Why? Is he dying?” Wensleydale asked. 

“I don’t know, do I?” Gabriel said. “For all I know, he might be.”

* * *

After his shift, Crowley entered his dorm in halls. It was very small and had only enough room for his bed, his desk and his laptop. It also had an en suite with a shower that he had no room to move about in. And a shelf. On his desk, rather than keep his work, that was where he kept his plants. And his answer machine. He also had a small tree growing in a pot in the corner. 

These houseplants were Crowley’s pride and joy. They were green and lush because he looked after them. He fed them and fertilised them and watered them when necessary. No other horticulture student had plants as green as Crowley’s. He knew. He’d seen them. 

Crowley stroked his tree and noticed a light on his answer phone. It was one of those old ones with a cassette tape that he’d got from a vintage shop. He pressed play on the message, which was from the hospital. 

And just like that, he knew what was wrong with Ezra.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seizures used to be blamed on demonic possession. But the demonic possession is more of a joke on Aziraphale’s behalf. And I’m sure you know exactly what part of the book/show I’m talking about here.  
> Demon=Crowley. Angel=Aziraphale.   
> The Ocean at the End of the Lane is another book by Neil Gaiman. One that I’m Currently reading, actually.   
> Hematite and peridot are the recommended stones for a fever. Over the third eye chakra on the forehead. Lapis is the (or a) stone for calm and malachite is the stone for balance. If you believe in crystal healing, that is.   
> Costa Coffee=British Starbucks.  
> It’s not the same all over the world, but an americano is a black coffee, at least in Britain.   
> Another reference to Aziraphale and Crowley being an angel and a demon.   
> The Times is indeed the sixth most circulated newspaper in the UK.   
> Primo, Medio and Massimo are the sizes you get at Costa Coffee. Roughly translate to Small, Medium and Large.   
> Vape leaves a weird fruity after smell. I don’t like it.   
> Ah. I’m like 99% sure that all that’s right about the Spanish Inquisition. My history’s a little rusty. But it’s taught in schools here. In history, RE and science classes.   
> Oh RE=Religious Education. We’re a secular state, but it’s compulsory.   
> Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition=Monty Python reference.   
> That’s what it looked like at all the halls I went to. Very tiny. So, so tiny. Barely any room in the en suite for the shower and the toilet.   
> Does Crowley keep his plants nice and green because he keeps them in a state of constant fear? Maybe.   
> So... what exactly is wrong with Ezra/Aziraphale?


	3. Chapter 3

After spending a not particularly relaxing half an hour having tea and watering his plants, Crowley headed off for the hospital to see Ezra before visiting hours ended. But before he did, he sent out a text to Newt and Anathema. 

**Goin 2 c Ez. No y he sick.**

**Meet me @ halal place. U no the 1**

Not far from their halls was a little cafe that sold Bangladeshi food. It wasn’t great, but it had a high food safety rating, did student discounts and the owners (who were Bangladeshi themselves) knew Crowley and his friends. 

Crowley called it ‘the halal place’ only because it sold halal food (the owners were also Muslim), but the food was edible. Lots of people don’t like curry, but not Crowley and his friends. They liked it, only if it was what they could afford a lot of the time. Being a student is expensive enough, but being a student in London where a pint is £5.19 compared with the rest of the UK (with some pubs selling pints for £13.40 and even £22.50!), it wasn’t hard to see why curry was often on the menu. 

Outside the cafe, Crowley was looking down at the screen of his mobile, waiting for Anathema and Newt. He was just finishing up a text message when he looked up to see the owner standing in the doorway. 

“H-hey, Mr Hassan.” Crowley greeted. 

“Anthony Crowley. How unexpected that I would see you back here.” 

Before the Christmas Break, Crowley had had an... altercation outside the cafe with a suspected demon (okay, Crowley just hated him) by the name of Hastur. Both Hastur and Crowley had been arrested, but thanks to Mr Hassan giving a witnesses statement, only Hastur was facing charges of breaching the Queen’s peace, common assault, battery and affray. 

Crowley had, of course, fought back and threatened Hastur, but Mr Hassan hadn’t seen that. Just like he hadn’t seen earlier on that day when Crowley got himself banned from the local Catholic Church (that he didn’t belong to anyway) for trying to drown Hastur’s mate, Ligur, in the holy water font. No charges had been brought there thanks to some quick minded nuns and a priest, who was probably in all likelihood a nonce.

“Well, I’ve done nothing wrong to you.” Crowley said, storing his beaten up phone. “Unless I’m banned-am I banned?”

“No, you are not banned.” Mr Hassan said. “I heard that when you get into trouble, you have problems showing your face again.” 

“Well, here I am, returning to the crime scene.” Crowley looked Mr Hassan in the eyes. Well, through his sunglasses anyway. 

“For goodness sake, Crowley.” Mr Hassan said. “It’s January. Why are you wearing sunglasses?”

“Glaucoma.” Crowley lied. 

Mr Hassan sighed. “I heard about Ezra.” 

Crowley said nothing. He clenched his jaw a little tighter.

“It’s a shame. He’s a good lad.” 

“And I’m not?” 

“Why don’t you come inside?” Mr Hassan asked. 

“Can’t.” Crowley said. “I’m waiting for my friends.”

“Anathema Device and Newton Pulsifer.” Mr Hassan nodded. The friends had been to the cafe often enough that they were known by name. And in turn they also knew the Hassans by name. 

“Yes.” 

“You can’t wait for them inside.” Mr Hassan said. “It’s too cold to be outside.” 

Crowley peeled himself from the wall and followed Mr Hassan inside. 

* * *

Anathema was taking the stock before Madame Tracy closed up and went to her evening job. Anathema tried asking multiple times what that was only to be met with ‘it’s not for young women such as yourself to be prying into the personal life of an older woman such as myself’. And Anathema has her ideas of what Madame Tracy means by that exactly.

“Annie, your phone’s just buzzed.” 

“I’m sorry, Madame Tracy. I know there’s no phones allowed-“

“It’s a text from your friend Crowley.” Madame Tracy said. “You know, that’s such an unusual name. I’ve never heard it before your friend.”

“Crowley’s his _last_ name, Madame Tracy.” Anathema said. “He just doesn’t like his first name.” _Just like how you don’t like your last name so I don’t know it._  Anathema thought, but kept right to herself. 

“The text makes no sense to me, it’s just random letters and numbers.” 

“Don’t read my private texts please.” Anathema finished her stock taking and put the notebook down on the counter. She reached under the counter for her phone as Madame Tracy stepped aside. 

Anathema’s expression hardened. “I have to go.” She said. 

“What do you mean?” Madame Tracy asked. 

“I mean that my friend is in the hospital and he might be dying. I mean, he’s probably not dying actually. But he might die. I don’t know.” Anathema put her phone in her pocket and grabbed her coat. 

* * *

Newt had already left work for the day. Mr Shadwell had closed up half an hour early so he could hand out pamphlets on Oxford Street about witches, so Newt was alone, sitting in a McDonalds getting his tea. He couldn’t be bothered cooking something up in the communal kitchen at halls, and the last time he did he burned the pasta, so he used some of the money his mother gave him to go back to uni to buy a Big Mac. 

He was just watching Boris Johnson saying something offensive on the news when his phone buzzed. 

The text was from Crowley with news about Ezra. 

Newt grabbed his burger and his satchel and rushed out of McDonalds as fast as the teatime crowd would let him.

* * *

“The flu? Crowley, are you _serious_?” Anathema asked. “All _this_ is over the flu?”

Crowley was sitting down at a table in the Hassans’ cafe with his sunglasses off, pinching at the bridge of his nose. Anathema was sitting opposite and Newt was sitting by her. 

“Yes, I’m serious.” Crowley said. 

“But he’s vaccinated.” Newt argued. “He’s vaccinated for _everything_.” 

“Having the flu jab doesn’t necessarily mean that you won’t catch the flu.” Crowley said. “It just reduces your chances.”

“How the hell did this happen to him then?” Newt asked. 

“I dunno.” Crowley sighed. “Just really unlucky, I guess.”

“How high is his fever?” Anathema asked. 

“At its highest, it was forty-two degrees.” 

“So the seizures are connected to the fever?” Newt asked. 

“Must be.” Anathema reasoned. “That’s not good news though, brain damage can occur at that temperature, what’s the hospital doing to stop it?” 

“They’ve given him medicine.” Crowley said. “I don’t know what kind, the way they explained it was too complicated. I don’t know if that can really do anything for the flu, but...” 

Anathema put her hand on Crowley’s shoulder. “I get it.” She said. “He’s your best friend. You’ve been with each other all your lives and now-“

“Mr Hassan! Can you change the music over to Queen?” Crowley shouted to the man at the counter, desperate to get out of the conversation that he’d started.

“I don’t control the radio, Crowley, and you know that.”

“Doesn’t have to listen to Radio Punjab all the time.”

“I think it’s actually Bengali, not Punjab.” Newt said quietly. “Given that he’s Bangladeshi, he wouldn’t be listening to Punjabi music. Totally different language. It’d be like us listening to Welsh or Irish Gaelic music.” 

“Fuck those languages.” Crowley muttered. He never understood Ezra’s affinity with (and actual fondness for) the Welsh language. But then, Ezra was weird like that. 

“I get that you’re on edge, Crowley.” Anathema said. “But you need to calm down, just a little bit. Or at the very least, _act_ like you’re calm.” 

Crowley scraped his chair back and stood up. “I’m going to see Ezra.”

“Let us come too.” Anathema said.

“Family only.” Crowley said.

“How are you able to go then?” Newt asked. 

“Ez gave me permission, before he got sedated, to be there. Family-and Crowley-only.” 

“Crowley, what happened last night?” Anathema asked. 

* * *

_“Ezra.” Crowley rushed over to his friend as quickly as he could, stepping over the other patients and gurneys._

_“Crowley.” Ezra looked terrible. His skin was whiter than usual, save for the dark circles under his eyes, and he was sweating and so clammy that his hair was sticking to his head. There was a line in his left hand which was connected to the drip resting on his chest._

_“You look awful.” Crowley said._

_“I feel fine.”_

_Crowley poked the drip. “Is that morphine or something they got you on?”_

_“Saline, actually.” Ezra replied. “That’s what the paramedic said.”_

_“What’s happened to you?”_

_“Nothing, I’m fine.” Ezra’s voice betrayed him. He sounded terrified. “My family will_ _be here soon. Then we’ll be able to leave.”_

_“Ez-“_

_“You were here last year, weren’t you?” Ezra asked. “What happened?”_

_“I... appendicitis, Ez, it’s slightly different to your problem. I just had stomach pain-you’ve had seizures.”_

_“I wouldn’t describe it like that.” Ezra said._

_“You had seizures.” Crowley said firmly. “It’s best described how it is.”_

_“It just happened so suddenly.” Ezra said with a slight whine. “I was taking my exam and my whole body got achy. I thought it was because I didn’t sleep well the night before because I was cramming. When I got out of the exam it was like I wasn’t really there, like some sort of dreamlike state.”_

_“You thought you were tired.” Crowley said with a nod._

_“Yes. So I walked back to halls. It was like wading through molasses. I thought-“_

_“Tired.”_

_“Then I saw Annie and Newt. And I don’t remember what happened because the next thing I knew, I was being attended to by paramedics.”_

_“How high’s the fever?”_

_“Forty degrees.”_

_“Doesn’t sound too high.” Crowley said._

_“I need to get out of here, Crowley.” Ezra said. “Who else is going to finish my dissertation? Who else can deal with The Them and their dog? What if I die?”_

_“I’m pretty sure you aren’t going to die from this, Ez.”_

_“What if I do die though, Crowley?”  Ezra asked. “My head hurts. My muscles hurt. My everything hurts.”_

__“You won’t die.” Crowley patted Ezra’s hand. “I promise.”_ _

* * *

“Ez had been waiting in the corridor with about twenty other patients.” Crowley said. “He had another seizure, I saw it. They took him to resus to stabilise him. He must have asked for me because a nurse asked for me by name to go in there. He looked... _really_ bad. I didn’t know it was possible to be white as a sheet and flushed as anything.”

“Oh Crowley-“

“His temperature spiked, his blood pressure went weird and his heart went like crazy. Ez said he wanted me there. Then they sedated him to prevent brain damage or something.”

“That’s horrible.” Newt said. 

“So you’re going there now?” Anathema asked. 

Crowley nodded. “Yeah.” 

“Need a lift?” Newt offered. 

“No! God no!” Crowley blurted out. “No. Thanks anyway, Newt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tea is a meal typically eaten between 4 and 6 in the evening. Often, it’s the main meal of the day. The four meals are breakfast (eaten at any time before midday), dinner (eaten between midday and 3pm), tea (eaten between 4 and 6pm) and supper (for small children, eaten before 7pm and for everyone else, eaten after 7pm). Snacks can be and are consumed whenever.  
> Food safety ratings are a thing here. Every place that sells food is rated on a scale from 0-5 by health inspectors, generally every year. 5 is the highest rating you can get. Everyone knows all the 0 and 1 rated restaurants within a hundred mile radius because not only are ratings displayed prominently in the window or door, they are published. Like online, in newspapers and on social media.  
> Pints really are £5.19 on average in London. There are places that sell pints for £13.40 and there is one place that sells pints for £22.50. It’s ridiculous. The average price of a pint in the UK is £3.64 and the cheapest (Carlisle) is £2.35.  
> Student discounts are often 10% but independent establishments may go as high as 25% discount rate.  
> Breaching the Queen’s peace is a relatively versatile charge that can range from being loud and disruptive on Sunday mornings, partying at night and having a constantly barking dog, to starting fights, exposing yourself and rioting. Generally anything that can earn yourself an ASBO (pronounced Az-bow).  
> ASBO=Anti-Social Behaviour Order. They aren’t issued anymore. They’ve been replaced by the CBO (pronounced See-Bow) or the Criminal Behaviour Order, which is literally the same thing.  
> Assault can be anything from aggressively swearing at a person, making threats of violence and raising a fist to actually hitting someone, spitting at them hairpulling, kicking...  
> Battery is the act of actually hitting someone, but is a less serious charge than ABH (Actual Bodily Harm, which is injury) or GBH (Grievous Bodily Harm, basically beating someone within an inch of their life or causing permanent disability).  
> Affray is another versatile charge and covers everything from fighting with another person to rioting. It can be in a public place or private, but it’s easier to bring charges when it’s in a public place.  
> Breaching the Queen’s Peace and Affray are civil offences rather than criminal ones. And Assault can (and often does) take place without Battery.  
> Mate=friend, companion, someone you hate and are trying to be sarcastic to, flunky, sidekick etc.  
> Nonce=kiddy fiddler. Kiddy fiddler=paedophile.  
> Yes, everyone goes to a place where everyone knows your name. Even people in London have a local.  
> Local=place where everyone knows your name.  
> If you want people to take notice of your protest, go picketing or leafleting in Oxford Street. Pretty much every London visitor and local goes to Oxford Street.  
> Newt watching Boris Johnson say something offensive on the news is inspired by the last time I went to a McD’s in London and Boris said that Muslim women looked like postboxes. But then again, he’s always saying something offensive. Just google ’Boris Johnson Racist’ and you’ll see what I mean.  
> Yes, the flu. I caught the flu and my highest temperature was 40°C (104°F). Ezra/Aziraphale’s is 42°C (107°F). That’s bad. As Anathema said, it can cause brain damage.  
> There is actually a Radio Punjab here. Not too sure about Radio Bengali. But still.  
> Ezra and his affinity for the Welsh language is a sly reference to Michael Sheen. He does a lot for the Welsh language, publicising it, appearing on Welsh language radio and our only Welsh language channel. He’s an award winning actor and a huge Hollywood star and here he is starring in Welsh language soaps with an audience of 14,000 and narrating Welsh documentaries in Welsh. He’s amazing and he’s all ours. Give him more Welsh BAFTAs.  
> That was my attempt at showing the overcrowding of ERs. A lot of the time, patients are left in the halls and have no actual beds or bays. And those are the ones that are lucky enough not to have to be waiting in the ambulance. The Tories have crippled our NHS and the sooner they leave, the better.


End file.
